#sugar deposit

[shrapnelstars]

⬅️ I suppose this was inevitable.

#sugar deposit #Mr. Scratch

[domidextrus]

Puppet History will return in November!!

#sugar deposit #watcher #puppet history

[stevelucienrodrigue]

=Diabetes and the Orange Tree=

People suffering from diabetes have their pancreas clogged with deposits of processed sugars, too difficult for this organ to process.

We know that lemon effectively disinfects surfaces of all kinds in our home. Citrus fruits contain an appreciable quantity of vitamin C, which is citric acid, an excellent descaler.

To get this vitamin C to our pancreas for a complete cleansing, let’s take the orange, which has also an interesting sugar load. These two elements of this fruit have a strong chemical bond: where sugar goes, vitamin C goes.

As a diabetic, reduce carbohydrate intake to make room for a medium-sized glass of orange juice (not made from concentrated) at breakfast. This juice contains a higher concentration of sugar than a simple orange. This ensures that the vitamin C reaches the pancreas. For one season, three months, add this daily diet to your diabetes program.

With each passing day, the pancreas will be freed of more and more of these deposits from this industrial sugar, which is unfit for our system.

After this 12-week operation, avoid the cheap processed sugars of profit-hungry retailers in the future, so that this organ can breathe with ease. The pancreas will be back in top shape.

With your doctor's approval, open the menu wide and spoil your taste buds long deprived of the delights of your local pastry chefs!

Text by Steve Lucien Rodrigue - Version 1.0 - April 2024 - Quebec CITY, CANADA.

#diabetes #sugar #vitamins #acid #orange #education #diet #pancreas #descaler #deposits

[loohalbanoreviews]

#Amyl Guard - AmylGuard Review - ((Wow To Lose Weight Fast)) - AmylGuard Reviews NUTRAVILLE #⇛ AmylGuard Official WebSite: https://bit.ly/amyl-guard-officialsite #Ingredients in Amyl Guard #Each ingredient plays a significant role #and while you might be surprised that there are so few #each one packs a punch. The listed components are: #White kidney bean #Bitter melon extract #Chromium picolinate #Berberine #Nutraville Amyl Guard Ingredients #The natural ingredients used in Nutraville Amyl Guard Amylase Inhibitor are what make them more effective in weight loss. #White Kidney Bean: This is one of the ingredients which aids weight loss and is full of micronutrients #magnesium #and vitamins. This nutritional powerhouse is exemplary for managing healthy Glucose levels and sugar metabolism. According to studies this #Bitter Melon Extract: Bitter melon extract can burn your deposited fat and increase digestive enzymes like bile. It has effects to prevent #relief from pains #and regulation of your blood pressure are also achieved through this ingredient. #Berberine: This is an ingredient that controls weight by managing insulin production and maintaining hormones that increase weight gaining. #Chromium Picolinate: Chromium picolinate enhances cholesterol control and expels bad cholesterol from the body. According to experts #this component is an agent for controlling sugar levels in the blood and is helpful for type 2 diabetes patients. #You can access more details about the formula on the official Amyl Guard website #these are some of the main ingredients. #Folks #In my Amyl Guard Review #I also gave some warnings about some Amyl Guard Reviews #be very careful with the website you are going to buy Amyl Guard. #weight loss #lose weight #lose belly

[willowser]

aww aww katsuki coming home to find you and your kiddos in the kitchen, a disarray of gingerbread and icing and candies spread out across the dining room table.

you'd managed to dye your daughters frosting pink, and she's jumping up and down on her tippy-toes when she sees him, grinning so hard the tendons in her neck are straining. she'd wanted to build and decorate her own gingerbread house this year, but so far she's spent the last twenty minutes being very particular about only the first wall.

"daddy!" she leans her head all the way back when he puts his hand on her face, giggling beneath his palm with her little squished nose. "look at mine, look at mine!"

your wobbly son jumps up in his own chair, using the table as leverage to balance himself as he lets out a squeal of gibberish that vaugely sounds like an echo of what his sister is saying. at the excited pitch in his voice, her head whips around, free from katsuki's grip as her brows furrow.

"he's not even decorating anything," she protests—and she's not wrong; whatever your little boy is doing hardly classifies as 'decorating', and is more like 'eating all the frosting he can before getting caught'. there is a mess of sugar dried all around his mouth.

still, your son squeals in his chair, jumping up and down with even more energy when you place a hand on his butt, in case he slips. the promise of you only encourages him, and katsuki reaches across the table to snatch him up when he tries to get his little knee up on the surface.

your daughter's frown grows; sharing attention remains a soft spot for her. instead of saying anything, she only makes an annoyed little sound and presses her cheek into her dad's hip.

"stuff's gonna give you cavities," katsuki murmurs, though he picks up a few red and green candies and shares them with your already sugary boy—who hums happily. "need a toothbrush for christmas."

"no," your daughter pulls back and tugs on his belt loops, sneering up at him playfully when he pinches her nose. "you have cavities!"

katsuki makes a point to bare his teeth at her, and then presses his forehead to his son and does the same until they're both giggling. "ain't me, bighead,"

"you're a bighead!"

"yeah, 'n i am big, so what's your excuse?" a wicked little grin splits his face when she starts swinging on him, and he deposits your son into your lap before scooping her up off her feet, her girlish scream vibrant and happy in the space around you.

katsuki waits until she calms down a bit, holding her to his chest like a baby, before coming around the table to get a good look at her little pink masterpiece. he presses his mouth into her hair, like he does with you, and her little ruby eyes sparkle when he murmurs, "looks good, kid,"—just to her and only to her.

#🥺🥺🥺🥺 #she just wants her dad !!! all to herself !! 🥺 #no stinky little brothers !!!! 😤 #god i had to really consciously stop myself from 'yall need a toothbrush for christmas' #LMAOOO #no YALL #your daughter grows up with such a SMART ASS MOUTH #just like HER FATHER #always got something to say back !!! sassy pants !!!! #cw children #✿ willow writes #✿ thoughts: bakugou #✿ theme: dad bakugou

[heard-nsfw-is-back]

Eddie loses a ring and he's a little confused but he's put his stuff in strange places before. He's lost it for a week and now he just wants to find it as a matter of principle. His rings are specific and hard to find so he always makes sure to (not) buy them when he sees them. Another week goes by and he meets up with Steve. They're going bowling and he puts his rings in the glove box where he finds his missing ring. "Oh for the. There you are!" Happily, Eddie carefully deposits the other rings in the glove box and Steve just smiles and shakes his head.

They go bowling and Steve wins this time and Eddie treats him to some funnel cake. "I could make this at home you know. It'll be just as good." Eddie gapes, mockingly offended. "All food tastes better when it comes from a questionable source, Harrington. Remember that." Steve rolls his eyes and flicks some sugar at him.

Eddie gets dropped off and he grabs his rings, making sure he's not missing any again, before sliding out the car. Steve blows him a kiss and Eddie mimes grabbing and swallowing it. "Chew your food Munson." And Steve drives away. Eddie crawls in to bed before sitting up. Damn, he missed prime swallowing jokes opportunities.

Years go by and Eddie and Steve are sitting in bed. They've been dating for a while and Steve is holding Eddie's hand messing with the fresh nail polish he did. "Don't mess up my artist's work. He wouldn't appreciate it." Eddie admonished, teasing. Steve smiled and pulls his hand down for a kiss. "Would you ever want to get married?" Steve asks and Eddie could feel his shoulders tense. "Yeah I mean. Yes. I think so. I mean I wouldn't need it. I'd be ok just. I mean it's not legal." Steve hums. "I'd marry you." Eddie starts going through every ring he'd pass by.

Steve slides out of the bed and kneels on the floor, still holding Eddie's hand. "We've survived hell on earth and hell in hell and I am so glad you're in my life. You're beautiful and brilliant and so kind. Would you please marry me?" And pulls out a ring. A beautiful carbon black band with a small gold gem. "Oh fuck that's beautiful." Eddie whispers and scoots over to pull Steve in for a kiss. "Yes. Yes!" Eddie sits up and Steve slides the ring on. They're both crying and laughing and kissing and it's gross and wet and they've never felt more in love.

Later, sweaty and exhausted, Eddie asks how Steve knew his ring size. He answered about how he took a ring he wore on that finger once and brought it to have a ring made to that size. Eddie doesn't remember but Steve looks so smug about it. "It was years ago. Don't worry." Eddie laughs. "Years? I think you need to get your head checked we haven't been dating that long." Steve smiles and looks up at the stick on glow in the dark stars on the ceiling.

"We weren't dating." And Eddie is so touched and feels so small and warm. He's been loved for so long and it's a humbling experience. "Can I wear a dress?" Steve laughs, "Of course you can." "Can you wear that sleeveless jacket?" "Uh that's a no." "Can we have a cool cake?" Steve is laughing harder. "You're gonna be a bridezilla, aren't you?"

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #stranger things

[theharddeck]

start the new year right (jake seresin x f!reader)

pairing: jake hangman seresin x fem!reader (no y/n)

synopsis: what could be worse than a delayed flight with lost luggage? driving back to san diego with your nemesis. and what could be worse than that? the car breaking down in the middle of the night, on new years eve. and of course, the motel couldn't have a 2BR room available...

word count: 8.2k

warnings: 18+ explicit content, minors DNI: explicit PiV sex, oral sex (f!receiving), bc of who i am as a person overstimulation, not the BEST communication/consent, but everything is consensual! it's just implied; normally i'm better about explicitly asking and confirming

A/N: happy new year, friends! what would my year be, if not ending with me sitting down with a stanley of chamomile and writing more than i've written the whole previous month? hope this new year is gentle to y'all.

Natasha: Hey girl! Just got an alert that your transfer flight was delayed? Are you good?

You: ‘good’ as in ‘safe’, ya

You: ‘good’ as in ‘en route’, not so much. They overbooked the flight and the next one they have available is Wednesday morning

Natasha: nooooooo

You: At least my luggage is on its way to SAN… I’m considering renting a car and just making the drive from Vegas myself

Natasha: I love you and I trust you

Natasha: but an overnight drive by yourself after an already-long day is not the move

You: ugh I know, but i don’t know what else to do

Natasha: …mkay i have a solution but it’s not the one you want

You: let’s have it

Natasha: jake’s flight also rerouted through LAS

You: absolutely not

Nat: you didn’t even hear the actual plan!!

You: if it involves me and hangman, the answer is no

Natasha: it’s just a five hour drive, you can be adults/play nice with each other for five hours

You: when has Hangman ever been an adult about anything

Natasha: fair point

Natasha: but he is also currently texting me saying he’s stranded

Natasha: you know one-way car rentals are stupid expensive

Natasha: and he likes to drive so maybe you could sleep on the way

You: stop being logical

Natasha: i do not want to get a call from the nevada state police when you fall asleep behind the wheel on New Years Eve in the middle of the Mojave

You: good, add a guilt trip to the mix

Natasha: is it working

Me: …

You: it’s working

Natasha: (Ryan Gosling!Ken gif: SUBLIME!) 

You: lol

You: ugh okay text me his number

Natasha: can’t believe that after 8 months stationed at the same base you don’t have his number

Natasha: mkay just sent

Natasha: you have to promise not to kill each other

// 

Three hours later, you were really glad you hadn’t made any promises to Nat that you couldn’t keep. 

Because not only had Jake insisted on renting a truck (“I need the legroom!”), and that you didn’t need to stop in Barstow for gas (“trust me, sugar, I’m an Eagle Scout–I know we can make it to east LA”), the gas-guzzling monstrosity had fizzled out somewhere between exits along the 15.

Now the hood was smoking, there was no way you were getting your security deposit back, and you were just as stranded as you’d been when you first texted Natasha from the airport. 

Only now you were in the middle of the desert, and your phone was almost dead.

Four hours later, you had walked three miles back to the last exit and were checking into a truly shady motel, straight up refusing to talk to Jake because somehow, incomprehensibly, the only room available was one with one (1) king bed. 

Four and a half hours later, you were dripping wet, trying not to shiver because the shower you took to warm yourself up had backfired, since the motel towels were basically handkerchiefs and your wet skin made the room seem extra cold. You hadn’t wanted to wear your airport clothes to bed, but since your luggage was already in San Diego, that left you with just a cropped tee and boyshorts. 

“You okay in there?”

You glared at your reflection in the foggy mirror, since Jake was on the other side of the door.

The audacity of him.

When you’d first met Jake “Hangman” Seresin, you’d been determined to endear yourself to him.

He was a couple years older than you, and pretty close to infamous after that stunt he pulled in eastern Europe a few years ago. He was ruthless and reckless and good enough to get away with both, and you’d hoped that if you befriended him, he could teach you a thing or two during your own time at Top Gun. 

And he was ridiculously beautiful, which maybe – maybe – had your admiration veering slightly into crush territory. But you’d locked that down, determined to view him platonically, and not let that get in the way of any instruction he could give. 

Of course, the first words out of his mouth had been “Honey, you gotta know there’s easier ways to get your MRS degree than to become a naval aviator.”

Your crush and respect had evaporated on the North Island breeze, and it’d been downhill from there.  

You had no idea why, but he had been openly antagonistic at any given moment since then — doubting your competence but disguising it as care for your safety, and tagging a misogynistic “sweetheart” at the end of every condescending sentence. You’d ignored him as much as you could, hoping he’d get that he wasn’t in Dallas anymore, and that shit didn’t fly with you, but that had only egged him on. 

But now you were exhausted, cold, stranded in the middle of the desert, and practically naked to boot, and he had the gall to act like he cared if you lived or died. 

“I’m fine, Hangman,” you said, swinging open the bathroom door and beelining for the bed, hoping you could get to it fast enough that Jake wouldn’t make a comment.

Or before your tits froze off, at least. 

You didn’t look over at him as you dove under the covers, trying your hardest not to think about the last time these sheets had been washed, much less bleached.

Of course, the comforter was tucked into the foot of the bed, and you wrestled with it for a few moments before giving up, and hauling the topsheet up over your body. It was paper thin, but it was a semblance of covering, and you lay stock-still, closing your eyes and hoping sleep would magically deliver you away from this situation. 

A moment later, the bathroom door opened and shut again. 

You could hear the sounds of Jake brushing his teeth with the toothbrush and toothpaste you had bought from the “concierge” in the lobby (a relic of a man who looked like he did Civil War reenactments for fun, and seemed highly amused by your outrage at the available accommodations). 

You would’ve passed the time on your phone, but the last of your battery had given up the ghost while you were in the shower. 

A minute or two passed, and the bathroom door opened and closed. From behind your closed eyelids, you could hear Jake shuffle over to the lightswitch, and then he stopped. 

You waited. 

He didn’t move. 

“What do you need, Seresin?” you asked, tersely. 

“Are you cold?” 

Your eyes popped open, wincing at the brightness of the lights, still overhead. A quick glance down at your body made your skin heat – your tee was skin tight, and the thin topsheet did little to cover you; you crossed your arms over your chest, hiding your pebbled nipples, continuing to stare at the ceiling and avoid eye contact with Jake. 

“You could turn off the lights,” you muttered. 

Technically, the cold wasn’t his fault. 

But it was his stubbornness that got you here, so that had to count for something. 

“I was just asking–” Jake started, and you interrupted him.

“It’s the desert in December,” you snapped, “yet, for some reason, this motel has the AC on; of course I’m cold.”

As if on cue, the machine in the windowsill rumbled to life. 

You closed your eyes. “Please, just turn off the light.”

The light switch flicked off, and if it were anyone else, you’d have appreciated the immediacy of the response.

But it was Jake, and he didn’t merit any kind of gratitude, so you didn’t say ‘thank you’.

Silence stretched. 

You heard a rustling, and a moment later, you felt something land on your upper body. You flinched, pulling the material away from you on instinct, and identifying it by touch as Jake’s sweatshirt. 

You opened your eyes, peering through the shadows of the room. The curtains were thin (you were sensing a theme here), letting in lights from outdoors, and you found Jake still standing by the door. He was digging through his backpack, clad in a white tank and boxer shorts, apparently also not wanting to wear airport clothes to sleep, but that didn’t explain why he had chucked his sweatshirt at you. 

“What is this?” you asked.

He looked up, shrugged slightly, and went back to rifling through his bag. “I run warm.”

You pursed your lips. “Jake, I–”

“I had a jacket on over it at the airport, okay? Promise, it’s not dirty.”

That hadn’t been what you were going to ask, but you paused all the same. 

You appreciated that he was reassuring you, and you did remember that he’d been in a jean jacket at the airport. You’d noticed it against your better judgment, thinking he looked like an A-List actor as he walked through the airport towards you, all broad shoulders and smiles, like you were friends. 

“Can I have a pillow?” His question interrupted your recollection, and you frowned in his direction. 

You were clearly on half of the bed, Jake could see which pillows were for him to use. Did he expect you not to have one?

You pointed to the pillow you  weren’t using, confused, and he laughed quietly. 

It wasn’t a sound you heard much from him.

Normally Jake laughed like he was proud of himself, reclining in the golden light of the world around him, blessing you all with his presence. This was a different sound, less pretentious, somehow warmer. 

“Yes, I can see it,” he said, his voice still amused. “But I need it over here, for the couch.”

You blinked.

The couch was maybe three feet long, an atrociously patterned aberration that you’d tossed your carryon onto, and not looked twice at. Jake didn’t explain anything further, but there were still only two pillows on the bed, and you couldn’t understand why he seemed to think you didn’t need more context for why he wanted to decorate the couch with one of them. 

“Why?” you asked. 

Again, that quiet chuckle. 

“Because, sweetheart,” he said, and you bristled on instinct, “that’s where I’m sleeping.”

You couldn’t have heard that right. 

“You’re not sleeping on the couch,” you said.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch,” Jake said, stubbornly. 

“That was never up for debate,” you snorted. “Jake, we’re adults. We can share the bed. You’re not going to fit on the couch.”

“I’m an Eagle Scout,” he grumbled. “I can sleep anywhere.”

“Yes, loyal, brave, clean, etc, I’m sure,” you said. “But I’m not sure how helpful you’re going to be tomorrow, when you can’t drive that monstrosity of a truck due to your back spasming from being rolled up on that couch all night.”

You watched through the shadows as Jake stubbornly tried to wedge himself sideways on the couch. Sure enough, his knees were practically bent up to his navel, and even through the darkness, you could see the furrow in his brow. 

“You could drive it,” he said, too obstinate to accept defeat.

“I will not,” you returned, “drive a vehicle that ostentatious.”  

“Says the pilot,” he grumbled.

“Naval aviator,” you shot back. “Jake, it’s an enormous bed. Get over yourself, get into it, and the sooner you settle, the sooner it’ll be morning, and we can leave.”

He deliberated, the mulish man. 

But eventually he pushed himself off the couch, clambering across the room. The bed dipped as he slid into it, and reached down for the comforter, still wedged into the bottom of the bed. You tried not to be annoyed when he yanked it free easily. It was probably just momentum, or that you’d loosened it up for him. While he was rearranging the comforter, you pulled the sweatshirt over your head, and tried to be calm about the situation. 

His sweatshirt was somehow still warm. 

It smelled amazing, like cedar and fancy cologne.

And also sweat, which you tried damn hard to ignore.

It was cozy, and you snuggled into it, and a moment later, Jake settled. Thankfully, the bed was big enough that you didn’t have to touch each other, but that didn’t mean you could ignore that he was there. 

In bed. 

With you. 

You snorted, thinking how much of a dream this would’ve been to you eight months ago, before you met Jake, and he dashed your crush to pieces. 

“What?” Jake grumbled, and maybe it was the proximity, or maybe exhaustion from the day was setting in, because his voice sounded almost gentle. 

“Nothing,” you shook your head. “G’night.”

“Night,” Jake said. 

You rolled onto your side, pulling your feet up under you, and folding your hands under your face, so you didn’t have to touch your skin to the pillow. Of course, that brought the sleeve of the sweatshirt to just under your face, and you were surrounded by the delicious smell of it again. 

It distracted you for a moment. 

Just a moment. 

Then you had to acknowledge that, even with the sweatshirt and the newly-added comforter, your wet hair was no match for the chill of the room. Your legs felt exposed and the sheets felt like they were damp and wet, and you tried your best to ignore it, but soon you were shivering. 

You tried to be still, you did. 

But when you heard the bed shift as Jake turned towards you, you winced into the darkness, unsurprised. 

“Sweetheart…” he started, and you shook your head, refusing to look back over at him. 

“I’ll be fine, I just need to fall asleep.”

Jake let that statement hang for a moment, just long enough for your shivering to start up again. He cleared his throat. 

“Um,” he said, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think he sounded nervous, “I meant what I said earlier. About running warm.”

This time, you did turn over, trying to read his expression in the shadowy darkness. He looked…open. Like he really was altruistically suggesting sharing body warmth, nothing malicious and none of his normal teasing. 

You were suspicious, but not enough so that you could ignore that it was a better idea than freezing yourself to sleep. 

“You sure?” you asked, and Jake grunted, which you figured was as good a response as any. Actually, it was pretty damn good, because if he sounded eager, you’d be creeped out, and if he was uncertain, you’d feel guilty. But being matter-of-fact about it gave you the courage to scoot across the bed. 

“How do we do this?” you asked, and Jake reached for you. It was an easy movement, natural, enough so that it surprised you when he hesitated before touching you. 

“Can I…?” he trailed off. 

“Sure,” you shrugged, hoping you sounded half as unaffected as he did. This was fine, this was normal. Just a guy who was SO obnoxious that it made you forget how hot he was, suddenly not being obnoxious, and basically punching you in the face with his hotness.   

His hand settled on the small of your back and damn it, he was warm. His touch was soft, gentle, almost nervous, and he pulled you closer to him. You realized you’d expected him to turn you over, press your back to his front so that you’d be spooned, but instead he just wrapped you in his arms. He reached around you to tuck the comforter between you and the mattress, insulating you with his warmth. 

Your head was in his chest, and with his arms bracketed around you, your breath heated up the space between his tank and your face. He’d even managed to slot his arm under your head, so your face still wasn’t on the pillow. 

Cuddling with someone new was usually awkward, a tangle of limbs and expectations, but with Jake, it wasn’t. It was…damn it. It was pretty close to perfect.

“Good?” he asked, and he sounded different, with your cheek on his bicep, and your nose practically pressed against his chest. It was like you could feel his voice, rumbling around you, somehow more comforting for the proximity. 

You nodded, not wanting to hear anything new on your voice if you tried to respond. 

Jake hummed. 

A moment later, you realized his thumb was moving. Nothing major, just a small movement between your shoulder blades, a reassuring stroke. It was a comforting motion, gentle, and it wasn’t long before his warmth and his touch lulled you into a sweet sleep. 

You startled awake to the sound of guns. 

Not guns, fireworks. 

Damn it, it was New Year’s Eve; how had you forgotten? 

Jake stirred too, a deep breath expanding his chest, and leading you to realize his head was resting on top of yours, his chin tucked on top of the crown on your head.

“Is that–” he mumbled and how dare he, honestly, how very dare he, because he sounded great. Fuck him, for that, frankly. 

The situation washed over you, half asleep and fully cognizant of how random it was. You didn’t mean to start, but soon you were laughing, your shoulders shaking. 

“You okay?” Jake asked, a thread of concern in his voice, and that didn’t help any. 

“Just the universe’s sense of humor,” you said. 

You didn’t know how, but you knew he was confused and you should’ve been worried about how you knew that, how you weren’t cold at all, how if you looked up, you’d know what a  sleep-mussed Jake Seresin looked like, but all you could think was that this was so, so stupid. 

You took a long breath, starting to explain. 

“I just can’t believe this is how I’m starting the next year of my life,” you laughed. “Like, I’m fine, right? I’m doing alright on a career path I love, I call San Diego home, I have great friends and I’m doing as good with my family as anyone could be. And where am I on New Year’s? Stranded in a motel off an exit that’s literally not even town, cold enough that a guy who hates me is cuddling me so I can be still enough for him to go to sleep, with a dead phone so none of my friends or family can wish me a happy new year, and I–”

“Wait,” Jake pulled back, and you frowned at the interruption, “why do you think I hate you?”

You stared at him. “Are you serious?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jake said, having the gall to look confused.   

“Jake,” you said, disbelieving. “You’re literally constantly a jackass to me. You’re constantly undermining me, doubting or heckling. You throw in a – frankly overwhelming – amount of southern charm and expect that to distract from the fact that you’re being outrageously patronizing and—”

Jake kissed you.

You weren’t expecting it, and it was so sudden that it thoroughly cut off your train of thought. All you could do was comprehend fleeting sensations and emotions. Jake’s lips were soft, the pressure of them light and teasing against yours. His arms tightened around you, like he was steadying both of you. In the same way you’d sensed his confusion, now you sensed his apprehension, and an unfamiliar determination. 

Just as quickly, he pulled back. 

“I don’t–” his voice was rough, and he cleared his throat. “Christ, I don’t hate you.”

You licked your lips, annoyed that they had the audacity to tingle in response to him.

You wanted to ask what the hell that was. 

You wanted to ask why he was looking at you like that. 

You wanted to ask what that expression meant but more than anything, you wanted him to kiss you again. 

Your arms were curled up between the two of you, and it took so little effort to curl your fingers in the front of his tank and pull him to you. His mouth was on yours a breath later, and his hand was on your jaw, angling your face so he could kiss you properly. 

Of course he was a good kisser. 

Fucking of course he was, he had to be, but it was one thing to know it in an agnostic kind of way, and another to feel his lips pressing into yours. You shivered when his tongue swept over your bottom lip and when you mirrored the motion, something in his chest rumbled, and Jake parted his lips for you. 

He tasted faintly of toothpaste, and he had some kind of chapstick on his lips that was sweet, and you couldn’t get enough of him. His arms were still around you and he was so warm, so broad, and you couldn’t help but press yourself against him. When your arms wound around his neck, Jake broke away from you. You could feel his chest rising and falling quickly, and his hands fell from your back to your waist, as if holding you in place. He turned his head slightly, kissing lazily at the corner of your mouth, down your cheek, to your jawline. 

“That’s not how I wanted to tell you,” he murmured against your skin, and this time when you shivered, you knew it wasn’t from the cold. 

“You still haven’t told me,” you managed, eyelashes fluttering at the teasing brush of his lips, while you tried to look at him.  

To your astonishment and delight, Hangman blushed. 

Sheepish wasn’t an expression you were used to on him, not unlike bashful, but you thought it suited him. He looked like he was gearing up to say something and, curious though you were, you didn’t want to get into that right now. It was late, you were still exhausted, and just a few moments ago, you’d thought he hated you. 

If his expression now was any indication, you and Jake had very different conceptions of flirting. 

“Look,” you said, before he could say whatever he was hyping himself up to say, “this is probably a lot more complicated than either of us were prepared for. So, it’s the New Year…we could start it how we want the year to go.”

Jake’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and he smiled softly, a sweet expression on his face. He turned his head to kiss the palm of the hand you had looped around his neck. 

“Cuddling,” he said, at the same time you announced, 

“Orgasms.”

You would never forget the expression on his face. 

Sweetness morphed into amazement, and then quickly into hunger. 

“I can pivot,” he said quickly, and you lifted your chin. 

“You sure?” you teased, “Don’t want to strongarm you into–”

Your sentence ended with a squeal when Jake turned quickly, flopping onto his back, and pulling you on top of him. Your knee was between his thighs and you couldn’t hold back your grin as you looked down at him. Just like with this kiss, he was letting you lead, but being so clear about what he wanted. 

And who were you, to decline?

Kissing him from on top of him felt different, felt amazing. 

You could appreciate how sturdy he was, and when you relaxed slightly, you found yourself straddling his thigh. You’d been a part of plenty of dogfight football scrimmages, and Jake was never one for longer board shorts; you knew exactly how strong his thighs were. But it was one thing to see them on display, and quite another to feel them flexing between your legs. 

One of Jake’s hands was inching under his sweatshirt that you wore, warm fingers spreading across your stomach as you moved over him. 

God, he felt so good, so few layers between his skin and your core, and the pressure of his thigh between your legs was so good. You kissed him again, tongues tangling and teeth clashing, as you ground against his leg. 

When you moved, you felt the hem of his boxers slide against your leg, and sue a girl, you were curious. You shifted slightly, moving your thigh higher, and when you rocked your hips, your thigh brushed against his cock. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Jake gritted as you moved against him, and you thought maybe you didn’t mind the petname, when he sounded like that. 

You braced yourself on the pillow behind him and moved again. 

It shouldn’t be this hot. 

But it was, he was, and you felt pleasure spooling through you, just from his leg between yours, and his gentle touch against your skin. How he reacted to you, how he moved under you, it was so good, like a promise. 

“Not gonna lie,” Jake said, his voice still rough, “I really like you in my sweatshirt.”

Your mouth fell open when he pushed his hips up to meet you. 

You both stifled a gasp at the motion, the sensation with so few layers between the two of you. Jake’s hands crept higher under your sweatshirt, almost tentative, and you leaned into his touch, encouraging. His hands cupped your breasts, and your head dipped to the side in relief. He made a sound of satisfaction, just enjoying their weight in his hand, then his wrists moved so his thumbs could brush over your nipples. He rolled them, and you felt it in your core, your thighs clenching. 

“Love you in my sweatshirt,” Jake repeated, sounding dazed, “but I wanna to see you without it.”

You leaned back immediately, pulling the sweatshirt over your head. 

You missed the warmth of it immediately, but Jake’s gaze was worth it. His expression bordered on reverence, and he actually licked his lips, looking up at you. You wiggled on his thigh, heat pulsing, needing something from him, your skin prickling under his gaze. 

Jake frowned, the lust in his eyes overtaken by concern. “Too cold?”

You certainly weren’t toasty, but you couldn’t say you cared.

“I would’ve thought you’d have a solution to keep me warm,” you teased, and Jake seemed to accept the challenge. 

The hands that had been on your breasts dropped to the back of your thighs, and a moment later he had pushed you back. You were on your back, feet in the air, and Jake turned you gently on the bed so you were resting on the pillows again. You settled in, expecting him to lower himself between your thighs, and were surprised when instead he reached back for the comforter. 

Maybe you had misunderstood, he didn’t actually want…

He pulled the comforter over his head, over your shoulders, and you blinked disbelieving at a Jake-shaped figure under the blanket, moving to the base of the bed, between your legs. 

You were fairly confident, but that was a lot to ask from someone on a first date, and this wasn’t even that, and you ducked under the comforter as well. 

“Jake, you don’t have to–” you protested, realizing belatedly that there was nowhere near enough light to be able to make meaningful eye contact. 

“You said orgasms, right?” Jake said, his voice full of a familiar smugness. 

He settled at the base of the bed, crouching, and through the darkness, you could tell he was looking in your direction. His hands were intentional on your legs, letting you know where he was, giving you time to tell him if you weren’t okay with something. 

If he was offering, you were beyond okay with this. 

“Right,” you said weakly. 

His hands trailed up your thigh, his warm touch light, and his fingers closed over the band over your boyshorts. You nodded, a sound he heard because your head rubbed against the comforter.  

He kissed your thigh. 

It was a feather light touch, a brush of his mouth against the sensitive skin, but it was so gentle that it reassured you. He kissed your other thigh, then higher, and one of his hands felt up to your stomach, and he pushed, an unsubtle prompt. You lay back against the mattress, nerves and desire warring within you as Jake kissed higher.

You felt a brush of his tongue when he reached the edge of your underwear and your breath caught. 

“Plural?” Jake asked, and it took you a minute to understand his question.  

His fingers pulled at the edge of your boyshorts, peeling them slowly down, his mouth pressing gentle kisses as he revealed more of your body. He was exploring by touch what he couldn’t see, so slow and perfect it was overwhelming. 

“There’s two of us,” you managed, back to his question. “Hence plural.”

Jake laughed, a soft exhale against your skin. He’d bared you to him, and you shifted, like you were seeking his touch. 

“I know this is new for us, sweetheart,” he mumbled, a kiss to your hipbone, then the opposite, “but that’s not how this is going to work.”

You bit your lip, nervous again.

You were new to this with him, and some guys thought oral sex was some kind of prerequisite – check the box, half ass it for thirty seconds, guarantee she’ll let you hit it – but something told you Jake would be different. 

You were panting, anticipation making you breathless. 

You whispered his name and it was like he was waiting for permission, because he leaned into you. His first kiss against your pussy was gentle, just as sweet as those kisses he’d trailed up your thighs. It was so sweet it made you squirm, and Jake chuckled, a sound you felt as his breath ghosted over you. He pulled back long enough to draw an audible breath, then his tongue licked over the whole of your cunt, a long, torturous swipe that had you trembling.  

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he said, muffled, and your hips bucked. “You’re already wet for me.”

You reached under the comforter, your hands tangling in his hair and Jake hummed his approval before following your prompting back to your pussy. He lapped at you, learning you, and when he trailed up to circle your clit with it, you couldn’t stop the cry that escaped you. 

“That right, honey?” he asked, sounding smug, and he circled your clit with his tongue. You felt a hand slip from your hip to your entrance, rubbing over you as his tongue played with your clit. He kissed you, teased you, and when he pushed a thick finger into you while his lips closed over your clit, you moaned. 

“Feels so good, Jake,” you cried, and you felt him shudder at your voice. 

You heard it too, how wrecked you sounded, and it was his fault. Your hips were pushing up into him, chasing the suction of his mouth, the pull of his fingers. He was only a knuckle or so into you, but his finger was so wide, thicker than your own, and you moaned at the unfamiliar intrusion. 

It was Jake between your legs, Jake’s wicked smile, sharp tongue, capable hands, Jake who was working you with his fingers and mouth. He felt so good, and your body felt like it was humming to a frequency he set. 

You trembled as he sheathed a finger in you, you moaned when he sucked your clit, and when his teeth brushed over your clit, the pleasure coursing through you snapped. Your fingers in his hair tightened, and Jake groaned when you pressed your pussy harder against his face. He groaned like he wanted it, like he craved that reaction, and you came hard.  

He coaxed you through it, gentle and steady as he’d been so far, and as you came down, you pulled slightly at his hair. 

“Jake, that was–” you gasped, and you felt him laugh again. 

“Honey, what part of ‘plural’ is so hard for you to understand?” he asked.

And he pushed another finger into you. 

Your back bowed off the mattress; you were so sensitive and it made everything Jake did to you feel so much more. 

His mouth traveled down to where his fingers were pressing into you, and he curled them into you. You heard an obscene slurping sound, and your eyes rolled back as you realized he was pulling your release out of you, tasting it from his own fingers. 

“Like honey from a honeycomb,” Jake mumbled, his voice thick, and you whimpered at how he sounded. 

A moment later, his lips closed over your clit again, and your head thrashed against the pillow. 

“Jake, I just–” you panted, but he sucked again and you broke off on a moan. “I can’t, I just – fuck, give me a second– oh, that feels so good.”

Jake either didn’t hear you or he wasn’t listening. 

He was following your body, the way your hips were pushing up into him, the way your cunt was clenching down on his fingers, and it was like he was drunk on the taste of you. He suckled on your clit, his tongue laving over you, stoking you higher again. He felt so good, and you were sure you were telling him, but you were fast losing confidence in your ability to form words. 

You lost track of time, there was just pleasure, and the heat from Jake, and the way he was working your body. 

“You gonna come for me again?” Jake coaxed, pulling back to blow a long stream of cool air over your clit. You flinched, you writhed, you would do whatever he wanted, as long as he didn’t stop. “I think you can do it, honey, it was so pretty the first time. This pussy is so good, doing such a beautiful job coming for me, tasting delicious and I bet you can do it again…”

Your legs felt limp as he licked over you again, tasting where his fingers fed into you, pumping them and pulling pleasure out of you. His tongue flicked over your clit, a maddening pattern, and when his lips closed, he sucked hard. It was so strong, so unreal, and you shook as you came again. 

“Ah, there it is…That’s so good, sweetheart,” Jake soothed, and you weren’t sure if he was talking to you or your pussy, and you certainly didn’t know which was hotter. 

He continued to stroke inside of you, his thick fingers pulling you through your orgasm, keeping you grounded, keeping your pleasure coming. 

You weren’t cold anymore. 

In fact, you were burning up, and Jake didn’t seem like he wanted to stop. The moment he felt coherency return to your posture, he dove back in. You genuinely didn’t think you could stand another orgasm from his mouth, and you let go of his hair – he wasn’t listening to you anyways – and flipped back the comforter. 

God damn, he was so hot. 

He looked up from between your thighs, the lower half of his face smeared with your arousal, and he fucking licked his lips, before smiling up at you. His hair was in complete disarray, and you could tell his whole upper body was flushed from overheating, and he looked so smug, so proud, and he had every right to be. 

“C’mere,” you asked, and it was enough. 

Grinning, Jake crawled up the bed, caging you with his arms again. 

He hesitated, unsure what you were okay with, but you kissed him hungrily. You could taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue, and you felt a sort of possessive pride that it’d chased away the cloying sweetness of his chapstick. 

Right now, Jake tasted like yours, and you were obsessed. 

When he realized he could, Jake returned the kiss with enthusiasm, his tongue sweeping into your mouth. 

Your hands smoothed over his back, curling in the hem of his tank and pulling it over his shoulders. Jake wouldn’t separate from your lips to let you pull it over his head and you giggled as he kissed you through it, like an infinity scarf. You felt up his back, hands delighting in the contours of muscles that you’d only admired from a distance, before you caught yourself. 

He was so strong. 

Warm and toned and big, intoxicating to think of him over you. Finally, he ducked his head to chuck off the shirt, and the motion lowered his hips to yours. You both groaned at the brush of his cock between your thighs, and then Jake was kissing you with fresh urgency. You hadn’t seen him yet, though he’d had his face in your pussy, and you reached between the two of you. 

You felt him over his boxers, and Jake broke off the kiss at your touch, his head dropping to your shoulder. It was like he couldn’t contain himself, and his hips pushed into your touch. You explored the shape of him through the thin cotton, your own hips rocking into him on instinct. 

Fuck, he felt big. 

You felt a small bit of wetness near the fat head of him, and you moaned as your thumb rolled over the leaking precum, rubbing his sensitive head. 

“I have a – shit,” Jake broke off, his hips rutting into your touch, and your head fell back. “I have a condom in my wallet.”

“Of course you do,” you teased, and it would’ve been more effective if you didn’t sound so needy about it. 

You turned your head to press a kiss to his cheek, then scooted out of the bed. 

The room felt freezing outside of the bed, but it was refreshing, as you darted over to his backpack. You found his wallet, and the condom inside it, and when you got back to the bed, Jake had only moved to push himself up. He was kneeling in the middle of the bed, and he shifted as he pulled off his boxers. 

“Holy shit, Seresin,” you whispered, not even caring that your voice sounded reverent. 

His cock was beautiful, thick between his thighs, bouncing parallel to the bed. Jake gripped the base of it loosely, like he had to do something while he watched you watching him, and you crawled back to the bed, still staring, kneeling so your knees almost touched his. 

“Can I?” you asked, holding up the condom. “Please, sweetheart,” Jake said, his voice so gruff and gorgeous. You licked your lips and ripped the foil, but hesitated before you pulled it out. 

“I’m clean,” you told him, sitting back on your thighs. “Um, we should still use this, but I just wanted you to know.”

Jake caught your chin between  his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head up to him. He kissed you quickly, short and sweet, and there was something unexpected in his eyes when he pulled back. 

“Me too, sugar,” he said, his voice deep. “Thank you.”

You couldn't be sure what he was thanking you for, but you felt like you should be thanking him. For making sure you felt good, for thinking of a condom, for making you feel so cared for. So you tilted your head, reached between you to where he was loosely fisting himself, and replaced his hand with yours. 

You pulled your hand loosely over him, obsessed with the warm feel of him, how thick he was in your hand, how heavy. Jake’s hands hovered like he wasn’t sure where you put them, and they settled on your upper arms, like he needed you to keep his balance. 

It didn’t stop you from leaning down and guiding his tip towards your mouth. 

Jake groaned, a beautiful, strangled sound, and it was lost to you when you first tasted him. 

This wasn’t the proper angle for a proper blow job, and you wanted to feel him, but you were curious, and your tongue lapped at him. His skin was scalding hot, and a pearl of precum beaded at the end of his cock, like an invitation. You licked it into your mouth, moaning at the salty, rich taste of him. 

Jake’s hand fell to the back of your head, not pushing, but like he needed to steady himself. You licked over him, acquainting yourself with him, learning the veins and sensitive spots, knowing you’d want to come back to them later. Too soon, Jake’s hand tightened in your hair. 

You looked up at him, hoping he’d like the picture of you from this angle. His jaw clenched and his eyes fluttered shut, if that was any indication. 

“Need to be inside you,” he ground out, and opened his eyes. “That mouth is so sweet, honey, gonna make this be over too soon. I want to feel that pussy.”

God, you wanted that too. 

You pushed yourself back up, pulled the condom out, and rolled it over his thick length. His thighs were shaking, you noticed, and it filled you with something like tenderness. That he’d get you there twice, then let you play with him, then say “please”, like fucking you was a privilege. 

When your hand reached the base of his dick, condom secured, he surged forward to kiss you. You swayed on the bed, kneeling in the middle of it, his hands cupping your face, yours on his waist. Both pulling, both needing to be closer, and when Jake lowered you back down, you followed his prompting eagerly. 

He settled you back against the pillows, back how you’d been when he’d driven you to the stars with his tongue, but this time his handsome face was right over you. When he settled over you, you closed your eyes against the intensity of the moment. You were both fully naked, and it felt so heavenly to have so much of his skin pressed against yours. He was warm, strong, all around you, and you needed him in you too. 

You spread your legs, letting him rest deeper between your thighs, and whimpering when his hot cock brushed against your stomach, then down. 

“Don’t know how slow I can take this,” Jake said, like he expected you to have a problem with that. 

“I want to feel you,” you told him, honestly. “Please.”

Jake kissed you again, pulling back to press his forehead to yours as he guided his dick between your thighs. 

You’d had two orgasms. 

You’d had his fingers and his tongue loosen you, you were plenty lubricated, but when Jake’s cock pressed against your entrance, you realized it hadn’t been enough. 

“Holy shit, Jake,” you gasped, as his fat head pressed against your pussy, waiting for resistance to melt. 

“Relax, baby,” he whispered hoarsely, “you can do it…You’re doing so good, just a little bit of give, come on…”

You whimpered at the new endearment, but there was no way. You felt needy, cloying. You could fit him, you knew it, but it felt—there.

He eased in, just a breath, and you felt like sobbing. It was so good, so overwhelming, so fucking tight, and you needed the rest of him. 

“Jesus, honey, you’re so tight,” Jake said, he sounded choked, and you loved it. 

“More,” you whimpered. “Please, Jake, want to feel you…you’re so big, I need more, please, please.”

“Honey, you can’t say things like that–” Jake gritted, your words driving his hips forward. 

You could tell he was trying to go slow, but the feeling of him forcing his cock into you had your legs shaking. You wanted it, needed it, and if begging was the way to get it, begging you could do. 

“Want to feel your thick cock, Jake,” you whispered, and he shivered. He was bracing himself against the headboard, and you could feel his arms shaking as he fought to keep from driving into you. “You feel so good, need to feel you so deep…want to come on your cock, please, Jake…come on and fuck me.”

He groaned like he was in pain, as he pressed deeper into you. 

He was trying to go slow, trying to be gentle, but you wanted to be mindless, you wanted your whole being centered around the deep push of his cock. You wiggled your hips, and sighed as he sunk deeper.  

“Thank you,” you breathed, and his hips punched forward again. 

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he muttered, and you would’ve laughed, but you were too overwhelmed. 

This was what you wanted, this was what you knew he could give you. Your hands dropped from his shoulders to your breasts, squeezing and massaging your breasts as he sank into you. You turned your head to look up at him, and found him staring, slack jawed, down at you in awe. 

“You make me feel so good,” you coaxed him. “Please, Jake…fuck me.”

Jake growled, a sound that came from deep in his chest, and his hand fell between you to brush over your clit. 

You jolted at his touch, your hips opening impossibly wider, and a hotter, stronger arousal racing through you than the steady, heavy press of him. Your hips bucked up, and you tweaked your nipples, working yourself up onto his cock rather than pressing him into you. It took a couple more burning minutes, and you were both coated in sweat by the time he was seated in you. 

“Baby…” Jake breathed, his voice a dream and you had to resist the urge to purr. He was so warm, all around you, inside you, it felt like he was grounding you. 

Then he moved.

His first pump had your back arching, your knees jolting up, your eyes flying open. Fuck, how did he reach that part of you, how was there room, how were you–

Jake laughed, a deep, dark sound. 

“That's what you wanted, sweetheart?” he asked, and he moved again. You cried out, overwhelmed, perfect.

“This what you were begging for?” Jake grunted, between strokes, “This what you were asking so prettily for, and now you have me, and what’s that, baby, can’t find your words? What’s wrong?”

Nothing was wrong, not a damn thing, but you couldn’t summon the wherewithal to tell him. All you felt was pleasure, pounding and sweeping, full and as good as eternal. 

“This pussy is so fucking tight, sweetheart,” Jake swore, his head lowering to kiss down your neck. He sucked at the skin there savagely, needing a distraction, and you clenched around him, when his lips closed over your pulse point. “Pulling me in, so tight and warm. You look so good around my cock, honey, you wouldn’t believe… Like a dream, like a fucking wet dream, but you’re here, stretched around me, taking me so good…”

You moaned as he found a rhythm.

The headboard was banging against the wall with the strength of his thrusts, and he pounded into you. There was so much he hadn’t said, so much he couldn’t say, but he pushed it into your body, swore it to you. He soothed it over your clit with his thumb, he promised it with his thick, heavy cock inside of you, and you felt yourself falling into it. 

“Please, Jake,” you managed, begging again. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything other than take the harsh fucking he was giving you, and craving it, needing it. 

“What’d’ya need, honey,” Jake groaned. “You have me here, so fucking deep, never felt this good, this right—what do you need, baby, tell me, whatever you need.”

Had the room been dark? Surely it’d always been bright light, sparking, blinding. 

Pleasure was rolling over you, suffocating, live-giving and you shook your head, moaning with every thrust of Jake’s hips. The only words you could manage were his name, and please, and it seemed to spur Jake on further. His thumb pressed hard into your clit as his hips sped up, and you felt the wave inside you cresting. 

“You’re close, honey, I can feel it, can feel how hard this cunt wants to come. Are you gonna do it, baby? Milk this cock, make it even tighter around me, want to feel that, need to feel your pussy twitching around me, sugar, please come…”

Your orgasm shattered over you, blinding and perfect. Your throat felt hoarse from your moans, or your breathlessness, but everything heightened. You felt like you were breathing with Jake, felt every hitch and gasp and shudder as he coaxed you through it. You felt like you were suspended in space, like the only thing there was was Jake’s arms around you and his cock within you and you needed, you needed, him to come. 

“Come in me, baby,” you whispered, your voice watery. “Need to feel you, want to feel how you’d fuck me to fill me, please, Jake, it’ll feel so good.”

“Fuck,” Jake shouted hoarsely, his hips thrusting harshly into you. “Oh, sweetheart, you feel too good, you’re so tight around me… I need to come, need to feel– fuck –”

You could feel his thighs shaking, his back tensing, and you turned your head to kiss him as he came. He moaned into your mouth, his whole body jerking as he emptied into the condom. You felt how strong he came, felt how thoroughly it worked through him, and it filled you with pride and satisfaction as he collapsed over you. 

You knew he meant to push himself to your side, but you didn’t let him go. 

You were just as boneless. 

You both lay there, a sticky, sweaty, mess, panting. It was like a dream, a daydream crossed with a fantasy. You were warm, comforted, sated, and the room was still cheap, the motel was still sketchy, but you were suddenly quite alright with this start to the year.  

//

tag list: @cheekymcgrath @laracrofted @callsign-fangirl @bradshawsbitch @bradshawsbaby @withahappyrefrain @hangmanssunnies @callsignspark @lewmagoo @mxgyver @sebsxphia @daggerspare-standingby @ryebecca @teacupsandtopgun @hangmanbrainrot @sometimesanalice @wildbornsiren @whoeverineedtobe @clancycucumber230 @javihoney and i think a couple folks have changed their URLS, so please let me know if you still want to be tagged!

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin fanfic #jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin smut #misskielwrites

[catcze]

Wriothesley thought.

Wrio giving us the princess/queen treatment bcs he's so whipped for us gives me butteflys🤭

THE WAY HE WOULD 🥺🥺🥺 I'm such a sucker for princess treatment so;;;;; this is so self indulgent HAHAHAA I got so carried away but that's ok ♡♡♡ No prns used !!

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

Wrio would treat you so well and and spoil you omg;;;

Opens things for you without you even having to ask! Doors, car doors, soda cans, pudding cups. You name it, he's opening it for you.

The kinda guy who would memorize your schedule and what time you come home, just so that he can go to you and pick you up himself 🥺

Would bring your favorite desserts with him, as well as your thermos full of some tea he made. Gives you lots and lots and lots of kisses when he picks you up, sometimes even literally picks you up and spins you in a circle, not letting you down even when you laugh and scold him because he's so embarrassing! he doesn't care— he just lives for hearing you laugh.

Deposits you in the passenger seat of his car himself, and seatbelts you in with a little kiss to your forehead and your nose. When he gets caught in a red light, he holds your hand, too.

When you go out shopping, he will not allow you to carry a single shopping bag. That's all him. The only thing he wants you to be holding is his hand ♡

Also also !! When you go clothes shopping, know that he's paying for everything that you want, too. If you come out of the changing room, smiling and telling him how good you think you look in the clothes you're fitting, he'll always nod and tell you that he's falling in love with you all over again.

And while you're trying on the next outfit, he's quietly calling over one of the store clerks and handing them his card, telling them to charge everything that you like there ♡ Absolute sugar daddy energy HAHAHAHAHAHAH

Pays for all your meals, too!

He asked you what you're allergic to and what you don't like eating on one of your first few dates together and he's been keeping it all on a list on his phone ever since. He makes absolutely sure that whatever restaurant you dine in, you won't be at risk of anything you can't/don't like eating.

If you feel cold while you hang out, he's giving you his jacket in the blink of an eye. Even rubs your arms and holds your hands so they warm up. Deffo cups your hands in his and blows on them!

And if you get tired? He's kneeling in front of you, telling you to get on his back. he'd give you a piggyback ride back to his car or either of your places (whichever is closer) and brings you a cup of water so you're not dehydrated.

and rest assured that on days where he can't be with you physically, he texts you! Not to much so to the point that it's overwhelming, but he at least sends you a good morning and a good night text :)

Also texts you asking if you've eaten! And and, if you say that you haven't yet, he gets food delivered to your home or your workplace/school 🥺

[ #Taglist registration here !! ]

#astronetwrk #「 🐈‍⬛ 」 catcze.desserts #wriothesley x reader #genshin impact x reader #cw gn reader #genshin impact #wriothesley

[cherievol6]

in love in italy

hey!!! long time no see…sorry i’ve been off the grid - i’ve been working loads. i just randomly wrote this (I was feeling very poetic after reading Sally Rooney lmfao) hope you enjoy!

being with harry in Italy brings on some intense feelings that you just need to confess.

warnings: very brief mentions of sex, other than that it’s absolutely heart wrenching fluff.

word count: ~1k

.

You’ve never felt like this before.

At least, not when you're in the middle of having sex with someone.

This wasn't just someone though, it was Harry.

Sweet and gentle Harry, whom had made everything feel a little bit lighter for you since the moment you met. Here he was, skin so close to yours it felt like he was trying to meld you both together like clay. His head was dipped into your shoulder, his breaths heaving but blissful. You felt like a pot of boiling sugar bubbling up to a gooey caramel and oozing into the bed below you. He made you feel as though one look from him or one kiss from him would make you shed every negative piece of your mind.

"You okay? You're awfully quiet after that." He half laughs, referring to the intense scene of love that was just displayed in the early hours of the morning, in a random villa in Italy. You’d woken up to get a glass of water and returned to bed to find Harry awake. A quick good night kiss turned into wandering hands and clothes being stripped to the floor. It wasn't quick, or impatient, the way you'd held eachother. It was intense, and thick and heavy — like there was something lingering for the two of you. You feel a few tears slip to yours ears and on to the pillows. Harry still hasn't noticed, gently stroking the leg around his waist. You scratch your fingers in his hair and let out a shaky breath.

You always found it hard to hold in your cries, since you were small. They swelled your chest like a balloon, and with a sharp gasp of breath the balloon pops and Harry's snapping his head up quickly and brushing your hair out of your face.

"Woah, woah. What's wrong?" His voice is panicked and you don't find yourself trying to avoid his gaze, which is strange. You don't feel upset, you feel overwhelmed. Harry always said it scared him how every time you looked at him it felt like you were reading his mind.

You wipe the sweat from your brow, the warm room making you feel flushed. Or was it this nagging urge to tell Harry something you’d kept to yourself for so long, out of fear of scaring him off so early in your relationship.

You smile, and he must think you look manic, grin growing the more you look at him, his constant over concern for you, like he couldn’t bear to think of anything bad happening to you.

“I feel good.” You say quietly, running your thumb over his mole next to his mouth.

“Yeah? That’s good.” He kisses you softly.

“Do you feel good?” He nods at your question without hesitation.

His eyes seem to gloss over akin to yours, and the words are literally behind your teeth when he says, “Always when I’m with you. You make me feel so safe. I can’t describe it-”

“I love you so much, Harry.” The tears are no longer tears, rather streams of saltiness that saturate your hair and Harry’s hands. He seems to deposit the last of the air in his lungs before he can speak again. Like your words winded him.

“You love me?” His voice is timid, and his hand is now shaking.

“You know that thing, where people paint in acrylic on a canvas, and it looks good, but kind of dull? A bit moody?” Harry nods, with a small smile creeping up his face. You always were one for the metaphor, “and then they paint it with that shimmery gloss and it makes the painting look so different. Like it’s brand new, and you’re finally seeing it in its best form? That’s how you make me feel. I wasn’t bad before, I just needed something…or someone to make me more vibrant. You do that for me. And I love you for it.”

He laughs, and the movement makes his tears fall out of his eyes and on to your cheeks. You are the most emotionally intelligent person he’s ever met in his life and he can’t believe that you’re in love with him.

“You always come up with the most beautiful metaphors...” he kisses you again, like staring at your face for too long brings on the urge to just devour you whole. “I genuinely think my entire life was created to coexist with yours, and just hear every piece of your mind that you’ll let me.”

You pull him down again and kiss him again. You were insatiable for his kisses, they were like oxygen for you. He’s still crying, and you’re still crying, and all you can hear around you is his heavy heartbeat and the owls in the trees around you. Your favourite place to be with Harry was in his Italian house. It felt like no one in the world existed or cared about the two of you when you were within these walls.

“I love you. I have done for months and I will do for a lifetime. Okay?” His brows are pinched together, in a sincere and reassuring way. Like he needs you to know that he’s not going anywhere.

“Okay.” You smile widely, until your cheeks hurt and your eyes wrinkle. “I love you.”

“I love you.” Now that it’s out in the air it feels like the only form of communication between you both in this moment. Harry rocks against your hips and kisses your neck, and you begin to breathe shallow. You whine when he connects your lips again.

“Show me how much you love me, H.”

.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry #harry styles story #boyfriendrry #harry styles smut #harry styles boyfriend #harry styles imagine #harry styles husband #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles oneshot

[shrapnelstars]

I can see through the code! I might be able to beat the last Inscryption challenge!

After that, I might complete the card collection in chapter 2 and then pick Nier back up.

This game, bro. I'm not trying to put off Nier, I really want to play it, but more stuff to do keeps popping into my head. It's like "One more Pringle! One more piece of candy! Then I'm done!" Hahaha.

#sugar deposit

[scientia-rex]

Because my most popular post is about weight loss and how it's a crock, I get a lot of questions about various things, including bariatric surgery--just posted the link to the post I did about that--but also Ozempic/Wegovy, the once-weekly injectable semaglutide medication that was developed for diabetes but was found to have independent benefits on weight loss.

I always said that weight loss was like Viagra: when a medication came along that actually worked, it would explode. We'd all hear about it. Fen-phen in the 90s worked, but it was bad for your heart. Stimulants, like meth, may cause weight loss, but they do it at the cost of heart health, and raise your likelihood of dying young. Over the counter weight loss supplements often contain illegal and unlisted thyroid hormone, which is also dangerous for the heart if taken in the absence of a real deficiency. Orlistat, or "Alli," works the same way as the Olestra chips Lays made in the 1990s--it shuts off your ability to digest fats, and the problem with that is that fats irritate the gut, so then you end up with fatty diarrhea and probably sharts. Plus Alli only leads to 8-10lbs of weight loss in the best case scenario, and most people are not willing to endure sharts for the sake of 8lbs.

And then came the GLP-1 agonists. GLP stands for glucagon-like peptide. Your body uses insulin to make cells uptake sugar. You can't just have free-floating sugar and use it, it has to go into the cells to be used. So if your body sucks at moving sugar into the cells, you end up with a bunch of glucose hanging out in places where it shouldn't be, depositing on small vessels, damaging nerves and your retinas and kidneys and everywhere else that has a whole lot of sensitive small blood vessels, like your brain.

Glucagon makes your liver break down stored sugars and release them. You can think of it as part of insulin's supporting cast. If your body needs sugar and you aren't eating it, you aren't going to die of hypoglycemia, unless you've got some rare genetic conditions--your liver is going to go, whoops, here you go! and cough it up.

But glucagon-like peptide doesn't act quite the same way. What glucagon-like peptide does is actually stimulating your body to release insulin. It inhibits glucagon secretion. It says, we're okay, we're full, we just ate, we don't need more glucagon right now.

This has been enough for many people to both improve blood sugar and cause weight loss. Some patients find they think about food less, which can be a blessing if you have an abnormally active hunger drive, or if you have or had an eating disorder.

However, every patient I've started on semaglutide in any form (Ozempic, Wegovy, or Rybelsus) has had nausea to start with, probably because it slows the rate of stomach emptying. And that nausea sometimes improves, and sometimes it doesn't. There's some reports out now of possible gastroparesis associated with it, which is where the stomach just stops contracting in a way that lets it empty normally into the small intestine. That may not sound like a big deal, but it's a lifelong ticket to abdominal pain and nausea and vomiting, and we are not good at treating it. We're talking Reglan, a sedating anti-nausea but pro-motility agent, which makes many of my patients too sleepy to function, or a gastric pacemaker, which is a relatively new surgery. You can also try a macrolide antibiotic, like erythromycin, but I have had almost no success in getting insurance to cover those and also they have their own significant side effects.

Rapid weight loss from any cause, whether illness, medication, or surgery, comes with problems. Your skin is not able to contract quickly. It probably will, over long periods of time, but "Ozempic face" and "Ozempic butt" are not what people who want to lose weight are looking for. Your vision of your ideal body does not include loose, excess skin.

The data are also pretty clear that you can't "kick start" weight loss with Ozempic and then maintain it with behavioral mechanisms. If you want to maintain the weight loss, you need to stay on the medication. A dose that is high enough to cause weight loss is significantly higher than the minimum dose where we see improvements in blood sugar, and with a higher dose comes higher risk of side effects.

I would wait on semaglutide. I would wait because it's been out for a couple of years now but with the current explosion in popularity we're going to see more nuanced data on side effects emerging. When you go from Phase III human trials to actual use in the world, you get thousands or millions more data points, and rare side effects that weren't seen in the small human trials become apparent. It's why I always say my favorite things for a drug to be are old, safe, and cheap.

I also suspect the oral form, Rybelsus, is going to get more popular and be refined in some way. It's currently prohibitively expensive--all of these are; we're talking 1200 or so bucks a month before insurance, and insurance coverage varies widely. I have patients who pay anything from zero to thirty to three hundred bucks a month for injectable semaglutide. I don't think I currently have anyone whose insurance covers Rybelsus who could also tolerate the nausea. My panel right now is about a thousand patients.

There are also other GLP-1 agonists. Victoza, a twice-daily injection, and Trulicity, and anything else that ends in "-aglutide". But those aren't as popular, despite being cheaper, and they aren't specifically approved for weight loss.

Mounjaro is a newer one, tirzepatide, that acts on two receptors rather than one. In addition to stimulating GLP-1 receptors, it also stimulates glucose-dependent insulinotropic polypeptide (GIP) receptors. It may work better; I'm not sure whether that's going to come with a concomitantly increased risk of side effects. It's still only approved for diabetes treatment, but I suspect that will change soon and I suspect we'll see a lot of cross-over in terms of using it to treat obesity.

I don't think these medications are going away. I also don't think they're right for everyone. They can reactivate medullary thyroid carcinoma; they can fuck up digestion; they may lead to decreased quality of life. So while there may be people who do well with them, it is okay if those people are not you. You do not owe being thin to anyone. You most certainly do not owe being thin to the extent that you should risk your health for it. Being thin makes navigating a deeply fat-hating world easier, in many ways, so I never blame anyone for wanting to be thin; I just want to emphasize that it is okay if you stay fat forever.

#the attending dr. kristophine

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Don't Fear the Reaper

Gender Neutral Reader x Rook Hunt Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: Running a little pâtisserie is quaint, and homey, and should not in any way get you involved with anything shady. Let alone the strange bounty hunter who prowls through your little town like the Grim Reaper himself. And yet here you are, teaching this literal murderer how to use a napkin.

A/N: Based on this wonderful brain rot from a very lovely anon! Also apologies in advance to anyone who actually knows French, because I do not lol. So Rook's babbling is all Google baby

[PART 1] [PART 2]

There was a murderer at your window, and you weren’t really sure what to do about it.

Well, maybe not actually a murderer. Bounty Hunters tended not to wind up in prison after dragging back the desecrated remains of their latest quarry. But still. You recognized the black plume tucked slickly into his wide-brimmed, purple, hat, and the pale, bright, bob of his hair was nearly luminescent in the dark. He was certainly the least covert assassin you’d ever seen, and you had seen him. It was hard not to. Traipsing through town to deposit every wayward criminal, every long-lost villain, at the doorstep of who’d ever called for him.

‘Rook Hunt’ you thought his name was, or at least, that’s what the old woman in the market would call him before crossing herself and spitting in the dirt. It was all a bit on the nose in your humble opinion, especially with that strange, twisting, ebony, bow of his strung across his back. ‘Hunter’ indeed. But it’s not like you’ve ever done anything to warrant winding up in one of those dripping burlap sacks of his, so you’d let the dude have his drama. It was probably good advertisement. And it’s not like the guy had ever bothered you before.

You thought that reassurance on repeat as you watched said not-quite-a-murderer stare through the front window of your little bakery, as if your rising dough had been kneaded with the secrets of the known universe. But he didn’t do anything—just kept watching with rapt attention as you brushed egg wash over your pie crusts and swapped trays in and out of the ancient, brick, oven.  

In all honesty, he was far from the strangest thing that’d been plastered to your window in the early AM, and it wasn’t like he was licking the glass or anything. So you let it slide.

One of the custard tarts you pulled from the oven had cracked across the top. Nothing out of the ordinary—there was always at least one dud in a batch. Normally you saved the rejects for Ace or Deuce to gobble up (depending on whoever managed to pop by first), but this one you set aside onto a little tea plate. You topped it with a dollop of freshly whipped cream and a spoonful of the blackberries you’d left sitting in sugar overnight. Then you plucked up a spare napkin and made your way out from behind the counter.

When you opened the door to your little bakery, the tingling overhead bell warmed your unwanted guest’s expression in a way that it most certainly should not have—lighting the whole of him with this sort of wide-eyed, innocent, joy that belonged nowhere on the face of someone you’d watched cart literal corpses into town.

“Mon pâtissier!” he chirped. “What a fine morning it is, no?”

The sun hadn’t even started to rise yet. You could still hear the drone of crickets and toads in the distance, basking in the humid darkness of the night.

“Sure,” you shrugged. “We’re not open for,” you glanced at the moon, still full in the sky, “at least four more hours. If that’s what you’re waiting for.”

“Oh—non, non, non,” Rook waved you off. “I just wanted to watch!”

“…Watch?” you repeated.

“It’s quite the fascinating process!” he absolutely beamed. “Taking such basic, individual, components and turning them into something so spectacularly sweet and heartwarming! Quelle inventivité! I’ve heard nothing but excellent things about your marvelous menu!”

‘From who?’ you wanted to ask, because you’d never heard of anyone being able to hold a conversation with this man for more than a stuttered sentence at a time, let alone for long enough to go about giving dessert recommendations. But there was a streak of red blood across his cheek that still looked fresh enough to not even have gone tacky yet, and now that you looked closer, his dark gloves were perhaps a shade too dark to not have been, well…

You sighed and reminded yourself once again that is was absolutely not your business, before handing him the napkin.

He stared at it with that same sort of rapt fascination that had you wondering if this man had ever actually interacted with proper civilization in his entire life.

“Wipe your hands,” you demanded with a huff, and he dutifully scrubbed at his stained fingers. Once he was clean enough that he was at least no longer dripping unmentionables all along your windowsill, you held out the little saucer for him to take.

“Pour moi?” he muttered, looking a bit starstruck.

“If you’re going to say all those nice things about my food, you may as well get to try what you’re complimenting,” you shrugged, and that same eager enthusiasm lit his face all over again. “And it will be a nice treat to take home with you,” you emphasized, with all the intonation of a cheery ‘please get the fuck out before you scare away all my customers for the day.’

But instead of turning and meandering off back to whatever hole he’d crawled out of, he just kept staring at the little treat like he had no idea what to do with it.

“It’s a tart,” you said blandly, fighting the furrow in your brow.

Rook repeated ‘a tart’ under his breath like it was some kind of ancient, forbidden, enchantment, and not like it was literally scrawled into the little menu sign at your door at least a dozen times over.

The Bounty Hunter peered at the little custard treat like you’d handed him a treasure beyond measure. After a moment of carefully poking at the browned crust like it wasn’t literally meant to break apart beneath one’s fingers, he looked back over at you with eyes that were far, far, too green. He lifted the tart up like he meant to give it back to you.

“I ought to offer you la première bouchée,” he smiled.

You blinked, taken aback, and pushed the plate back into his hands. “That’s not how free samples work.”

Rook tossed his head back with a bout of boisterous laughter that should have been loud enough to wake everyone on the block. You glanced around nervously, hoping no one was about to come running out to make noise complaints.

“Ahh~ But how else will I know the best manner in which to savor such a treat?”

“You eat it,” you gaped. And then, slowly, because you weren’t even sure you were dealing with a functional human being anymore. “With your teeth.”

The Bounty Hunter, with his blood smeared cheeks and even bloodier clothes, put all those shiny, pearly whites of his on display in a merry grin. He swept forward in a grand bow that had the feather in his hat bobbing about in a way that reminded you far too much of a wagging tail.

“Of course!” he chirped. “In my home you said, yes?”

Please, you wanted to groan. Go there. Leave.

“Ideally,” you said instead, and Rook ducked his head until that purple hat of his had cast the whole of his face into shadow. He reached up to tap two fingers against the wide brim and tip it forward.

“Merci, merci!” he trilled. “Then I will endeavor to consume this marvelous spécialité humaine in the proper fashion. A very good morning to you then, cher pâtissier!”

He straightened with a merry little hum and began making his way back down the cobblestone road. In the soft light of the setting moon, his footsteps left odd prints in their wake—inky, black, dripping things that had faded entirely by the time you were able to focus enough to get a proper look at them, leaving you wondering if they’d really just been nothing but a trick of the night.

Well, that was fucking weird,you frowned, shaking the fuzz from your head. You slipped back inside and the door jingled pleasantly as it slammed behind you. But then again, when wasn’t customer service a trip? These people were all ridiculous.

.

.

Bright and early the next morning, you were waiting for Deuce to arrive with his delivery of a fresh crate of eggs. It was ungodly early, as it always was. But at least there was no hunter at your window this time around—

There was a bang and a screech, and then an unfortunate sort of cracking-squishing-yucky noise that sounded an awful lot like a couple dozen eggs meeting their doom. You frowned and tucked your rag into the ribbons of your apron and ducked out from the backroom with a sigh. Deuce was at the door. Or, well, Deuce was on the ground in front of your door. With the shattered, yolk, remnants of your shipment scattered all around him.

“I’m not paying for that,” you huffed irritably, and your friend looked up with a squawk.

He looked like he was trying to say something, but his face just kept flashing back and forth between deathly pale and a miserable sort of mottled red.

“I—! You—! And he—!”

“Use your words, Spade,” you sighed.

“I do believe he’s trying his best, cher pâtissier!”

You froze, and turned in near-slow-motion to see a beaming Bounty Hunter crouched at one of the little painted benches lined up neatly along your storefront. Not on one, like a normal person. But beside one. On the ground. There was no blood on him today. None that was very obviously dripping down his face at the very least. He didn’t seem like he’d come bearing any ill will, but your Chicken Dealer was still splayed out on the ground—nearly convulsing—so that wasn’t a great sign either.

“What’s going on out here?” you demanded, hands at your hips.

“I do believe Monsieur Spade had himself a bit of a fright,” Rook beamed, and then turned towards your very gaunt looking friend with a soft tut-tut noise that for all its amiability didn’t sound particularly sympathetic. “You really ought to work on your balance, hmm? Alas, all these petits oeufs have gone to waste.”

“What?!” Deuce immediately bristled, on the defensive. “If you hadn’t scared me, then none of these chicks would have had to die so tragically in the first place!”

“For the last time,” you sighed, grinding the heels of your palms into your eyes. “Unfertilized farm eggs are not baby chicks.”

“But Ace said—”

“Enough! With what Ace said!” you snapped, exhaustion and a sore lack of tea, or coffee, or anything wearing away at your already fragile sanity. “Ace would sell you snake oil and cry to your face about you underpaying for it!”

“Oh?” Rook chirped, unfolding himself from his crouch to stand at his full height. He wasn’t particularly gangly or long limbed—not even especially tall, all things considered. But there was something about him that made him loom. From the sharp cut of his purple robes to the harsh, starched, white of his tight collar. He was neat, composed. And yet… very much not civilized. “Is this not a person who wishes you well, cher pâtissier?”

You frowned, something odd tugging at a sixth sense of yours. Just… a little something on the periphery of your nerves, singing that the words you chose now would mean a lot more than they ought to.

You hummed, low in your throat, and considered.

“Ace is himself,” you said finally, “but he’s a friend nonetheless.”

“Magnifique!” Rook beamed and clapped his hands together with a near lovelorn sigh, all at once perfectly pleasant and soft. “It is such a very good thing to have friends!”

“…Is that what you are?” Deuce asked, enough of that enraged spunk fading away to leave him properly cautious once more. His blue eyes flickered pointedly from the bounty hunter, to you, and back. “A friend?”

You sighed and turned to retreat back into your little shop without a word. Deuce scrambled to his feet to follow you in hesitantly, still dripping with the remnants of too many eggs. You shot him a look, and he immediately darted over to the mop and bucket you kept propped up in the corner. Rook stood in the doorway, nearly just a blur of bruised shadow against the backdrop of the pre-dawn darkness, and you watched him out of the corner of your eye. After a long moment of terse silence, he stepped beyond the threshold with a little hum. He wiped his feet pointedly on your little welcome mat, and then turned to stand at the counter. He fished around in the pockets of his cloak for a moment before withdrawing a strange little flower. He placed it on the countertop with a bright smile that crinkled the corners of his green eyes.

You stepped forward to observe it curiously, and your brows shot up in surprise.

It wasn’t a flower at all. What had looked like the folded arch of soft petals was actually a dainty pair of ­wings. It was a tiny butterfly—caught in a perpetual sort of stillness. It was bright, and colorful, and so carefully preserved that even when you trailed a flour-coated finger along the thin membranes of its wings, it stayed clean and crisp.

“What’s this for?” you asked.

“Payment, of course!” Rook smiled. “For the lovely treat you gifted me the other day.”

You sighed, not at all in the mood to discuss the lack of viable conversion rates between copper coins and bugs.

So instead you settled on huffing, “Free samples are free. It’s in the name.”

Rook just kept on smiling, unbothered. Deuce knocked into some set of drawers or other—or maybe the coatrack. Who knew—and you shot him an irritable little scowl. The guy was like a bull in a china shop on the best of days, let alone when he was trying to multitask, and be sneaky about it all the while. The bounty hunter’s grin twitched a bit at the corners, like the idea of your blue-haired friend trying to stealthily keep a watch on him was just the funniest thing.

You glanced back down at the little, frozen, butterfly. It really was very pretty, even if it was a little odd.

When you ducked back behind the counter, you unearthed a blueberry muffin from one of many stacks of trays there. It was little lopsided, and maybe there were a few too many bits of fruit in it. Surely no one would have wanted it anyways.

You plopped it on the countertop, and both Rook’s eyebrows shot all the way up his forehead. When he made no move to take it, you pushed the confection closer. The wrapper slid along the counter in a heavy, sticky, way. You’d have to remember to wipe it down again after. The Hunter reached out carefully to pluck the treat up between his fingers. He squished it delicately, in a similarly cautious way as to how you’d stroked the little butterfly.

“Is this also for eating at home?” he asked, observing the offering with a wide, wonderous, expression.

“Yes,” you said, just in time for Deuce to nearly annihilate your trash bin. “Please enjoy it.” Please get out. You’re distracting my maid.

Rook Hunt dipped into another of those ridiculous, bobbing, bows and pinched the brim of his hat between his fingers.

“Your generosity continues to warm my heart, mon cher,” he crooned, eyes practically sparkling from behind the sharp cut of his heavily lined lashes. “I will endeavor to return your kindness tenfold! A hundred!”

You waved off his sentimentality with a flick of your wrist and a not so delicate ‘shoo shoo.’

The hunter left your little bakery with a spring in his step and an outpouring of flowery promises that had your head spinning. He melted seamlessly into the shadows of the early morning, and between one blink and the next, he’d vanished entirely.

You would have thoroughly enjoyed the well-earned silence that followed, if not for the veritable storm cloud brewing over your friend’s head.

“Do I get one…?” Deuce asked finally, staring outright at the remaining muffins and sounding small and hopeful. And like that clearly wasn’t what he’d meant to say at all.

“Maybe if I had the eggs to make more,” you lamented, brushing your hands against your apron.

Deuce made a wounded noise which you had exactly zero sympathy for. You got to work wiping down the counters and sorting through the bits and bobs you’d need to start your day.

“…You know he’s not right, don’t you? That bounty hunter?” Deuce finally said, setting the mop aside. “You must have heard at least some of the rumors floating around town. I don’t think anyone even knows if the guy’s human.”

You shrugged.

“Anyone who has to wake up when I wake up each morning has long given up on humanity anyways,” you droned, only sort of half kidding.

Deuce frowned, clearly unhappy with your non-answer.

“You’ll be careful, won’t you?” he asked, stern in his fretting. There was still a big ol’ chunk of eggshell tangled up in his bangs.

“When I am ever not?” you smiled, and carefully pocketed the little, blue, butterfly.

.

.

When you popped by the market stalls after closing shop for the day, the street was abuzz with all the usual gossipy nonsense that you’d long since learned to let settle at the back of your brain like white noise. You were busy debating if you had enough arms to manage balancing yet another bag of strawberries (they were at their height of freshness these past weeks it seemed, and you were like a little fruit goblin hoarding them while you could), when a particularly shrill bit of chatter worked its way past the pleasant curtain you’d let fall across your thoughts.

“There was another one,” the butcher’s wife whispered in a way that was most certainly not a whisper.

“I heard,” chittered the man who really should have been trying to sell you more strawberries if he’d any kind of business sense whatsoever. He turned on you with a look that meant you were clearly about to be dragged into a conversation you were entirely unprepared for. “It was one of yours, apparently!”

“One of my what?” you blinked back into focus.

“One of your regulars,” he said, like a secret.

“That strange Bounty Hunter came through again,” his coconspirator hissed, with a hand lifted as if she meant to cover her mouth. “He dropped off the body the other day—delivered the heart straight to the Felmier’s porch!”

“Who was it?” you asked, just like you knew they wanted you to.

“Sir Hamlen,” the butcher’s wife said. “You know, that awful toad who could eat you out of house and home.”

That sounded like all of your costumers, and more than half of your closest friends, but you gave yourself a moment to sort through your scattered thoughts and try and connect whatever dots they’d been throwing at you.

“Sir Hamlen…?” you said after a moment, slowly putting a face to the name. “With the terrible goatee?”

They both nodded enthusiastically.

“Rotten pig,” the butcher’s wife piped back in. “Served him right, if you ask me. Everyone was expecting the Crown would put him to death anyways.”

You shrugged again. You hardly knew the man, but he’d always paid you well enough that you didn’t really have any ill will towards him. You went back to fussing over balancing bags of berries, but then… Well, there was something a bit funny, actually. He’d been a loud sort of person, with no filter to speak of. One afternoon, he’d stumbled into your little shop absolutely pissed on cheap drink and all but burping bubbles.

‘You know,’ he’d lulled, dropping a full coin pouch on your countertop. Which you’d taken in its entirely with zero hesitation. ‘I’d die happy if my last meal was these fucking tarts of yours.’

‘Is that so,’ you’d drawled, in the bland way you answered literally every customer who spouted off whatever nonsense was kicking around in their heads.

‘Aye,’ he’d sighed, practically stooped over. ‘Gonna have to pry ‘em outta my cold, dead, hands.’

“Huh,” you muttered, thoughts wandering back to a pair of bloody gloves and the little treat you’d pressed into them. Huh.  

.

.

.

TAG LIST [CLOSED]

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#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Rook Hunt x Reader #Rook x Reader #Rook Hunt x Yuu #Reaper!Rook #Monster Mayhem #Fantasy AU #Rook Hunt #Deuce Spade #My Writing #Monster Mayhem Rook Part 1

[agentmarvel]

i've been thinking about this for days, so here y'all go.

part i |♡| part ii

sugar daddy!könig x fat!reader

mdni - 18+; minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

könig, whose bank account contains millions that he has neither the time nor desire to spend himself.

könig, who learns about the sugaring community from stiletto and roze, surprisingly, and educates himself, finding himself quite interested.

newly minted sugar daddy!könig, who joins a website, hoping to meet a sweet, plump little thing to keep him company in his off time, accompany him to events he really doesn't want to be at, and is willing to be patient with him and stay in touch, though spotty, through deployments in exchange for everything she could possibly want.

sugar daddy!könig, who matches with you after several less than ideal encounters, boring conversations, and dozens of left swipes over the course of a year. he finds himself immediately enamored with your photos; you’re stunning, exactly his type.

sugar daddy!könig, who has a hard time talking himself out of sending you a large sum immediately just for a moment of your undivided attention, but ultimately decides against it, lest you only be interested in those deposits off the bat.

sugar daddy!könig, who learns you're a full-time student with limited means of support, given you aren't exactly a local. he could be the support you need, he thinks.

sugar daddy!könig, who is so thoroughly pleased with how you conduct yourself through messages, neglecting the matter of his finances almost entirely while you try to connect with him personally. after nearly a month of exchanging messages, he makes his first offer - daily pictures for payments. nothing lewd, not yet, but he's interested in seeing more than the same six photos he looks at daily on your profile.

sugar daddy!könig, who sends €500 per photo per day. you catch on quick, doubling or tripling up on them after a week; one before you head to class, one before you go to bed. but after the third time he sends multiple payments, you send a message telling him it's not necessary.

>>> I like sending the pictures! Your reactions are always so kind, and it makes my day! 🥰

sugar daddy!könig, who turns bright red at that and insists that he keep up his end of the bargain, but gives extra attention to detail in his responses.

sugar daddy!könig, who grows anxious to meet you face-to-face; broaching the subject proves difficult when he struggles to find the right words. luckily for him, you're a bit bolder, inquiring about events he mentioned, hoping to find chemistry on an actual date of sorts.

sugar daddy!könig, who is all too quick to agree to meet up with you. he warns you that he's painfully awkward, apologizes in advance on a loop, and warns you of his behemoth stature - a factor of intimidation for many, and he doesn't want to scare you off.

sugar daddy!könig, who adores your acceptance of his self-perceived flaws and shuts down the insecurities that you voice on your own behalf. your photos are not deceptive; he can see that you're a bigger girl (exactly what he wanted), and no amount of lighting, angle, or editing that could hide the most beautiful things about you.

sugar daddy!könig, who spends the next several days in a spiral over the date, stressing every miniscule detail until he chews a hole in his lip. his hands shake as he buttons his shirt, leg bouncing with nervous energy during the drive, fidgeting while he awaits your arrival...

sugar daddy!könig, who almost leaves when you're a mere five minutes late, berating himself internally for being blinded by optimism. he has to set his glass down in fear of breaking it in his tense grip.

sugar daddy!könig, who has to pick his jaw up from the floor when he catches sight of the hostess bringing you to the table. you're wearing a shy smile and a gorgeous dress that hugs your curves perfectly, and for the briefest moment, he swears he's in love.

#könig x reader #könig x you #konig x reader #konig x you #plus size reader #fat reader #cod x reader #cod x you #jj writes

[oniongarlic]

i have trained this bacterial colony to play overwatch by depositing sugars for every kill

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 75

Part 1 Part 74

Steve doesn’t recognize the house he’s in, or the people hovering around him, shouting overtop his head. They’re strangers with familiar faces. One of the kid’s mouths will twist sideways, and he’ll get a flash of it looking just the same across a round table he doesn’t remember. Another will tug on a lock of his curly hair, and he’ll remember the way it feels between his fingers.

He knows them, but he doesn’t know them. Uncle Wayne’s in the kitchen, talking quietly over the phone, asking for a Hopper that no one seems to be able to find. The longer it goes on, the deeper the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes get.

Eddie and Will flit around the house, opening windows until the air doesn’t burn. Once done, they sit on either side of Steve on the couch he’d been deposited on, enough space between them that the heat from their skin barely radiates.

He finds himself mentally repeating their names on loop – Eddie, Will, Eddie, Will, Eddie – like he’s afraid if he doesn’t, it’ll leave his head like everything else, crowded out by the shadow’s reaching claws.

“What was that?” Eddie asks, hot breath burning against Steve’s cheek. He wants to lean into it, let it burn right through him.

“Hmm?” Steve asks, still looking at the hustle and bustle of the unfamiliar house, moving through it like ants to the slaughter.

“You’re saying something,” Eddie says.

It’s only then that Steve realizes he’s been mouthing their names, lips pursing around the “W” of Will’s name, tongue clicking around the “D” in Eddie’s. He closes his mouth, bites down on his tongue until he tastes blood, and doesn’t answer, even as Eddie sighs.

The arguments peter and die out. No one comes, no one goes. There’s a pile of breathing bodies surrounding him, on the couch, the floor, out of sight, bundled beneath blankets and sweaters.

Steve doesn’t sleep. He’s not sure if he even remembers how.

Someone kneels in front of him, hands hovering over his knees like she wants to touch, but they never make contact. “How are you doing, sweetie?”

Her bangs are charmingly flyaway, framing her large, sad eyes that make his chest ache. She’s looking at him like she wants to help him, save him. Like this isn’t what was always supposed to happen.

Still, something in it twinges and he remembers, abruptly, sitting across from this woman at the dinner table, being served burnt lasagna, and tepid eggs, and letting it fill him up.

“I’m fine, Ms. Byers,” he says.

It’s not until the words come out of his mouth that he remembers who she is – Ms. Byers, Ms. Byers, Ms. Byers – like his mouth is saying things his brain is starting to forget.

She huffs, smiling wryly down at him before standing, reaching her hand out to haul him up before seeming to change her mind, curling the hand into a fist even as she smiles tightly down at him.

“Come have a coffee with me.”

He follows her into the kitchen, stepping over bodies carefully on his way.

Ms. Byers brews a fresh pot, looking cozy in her fuzzy socks and oversized sweater, winter coat thrown over it. She’s even got mittens on. Steve wants to squeeze her until she bursts. He sits at the table and watches her work.

She pours two mugs, leaves hers black but doctors his with milk and sugar. She puts it in front of him on the table, a creamy brown that looks right.

She sits across from him, hands curled around the mug like it feels good. She brings it to her lips, with a sigh, like all the world’s troubles are sloughing off her shoulders with a hot cup of coffee.

Steve wants to feel that. The porcelain hurts as he picks it up. He takes a sip that burns profoundly down his throat. He swallows and lets the heat in.

“Now,” Ms. Byers says, looking over at him from above the rim of her cup. She doesn’t look sad anymore. There’s a fire in her eyes he’s not sure he’s ever seen before. “How are you really?”

Steve puts his own mug back on the table, it sloshes over the side, still almost entirely full, making a puddle on the wood. He stares down at it, wondering if it’ll warp.

“I can feel it,” he says, plucking words from the air and making sense of them only after they leave his mouth. “Right here.”

He puts his hand to the back of his head, lets his fingers stroke into his hair and scratch at his scalp, like he’d be able to dig him out. “I can always feel him,” Steve says, finally looking back up at Ms. Byers.

The fire’s stoked in her eyes, set alight, even as she frowns across from him. “I’m sorry, sweetie.”

Steve gets lost in her eyes. They’re dark enough to swallow him. Dark enough to be smoke. He gets lost in the shadows.

“We’ll figure this out.” There’s a woman sitting across from him at an unfamiliar table. She’s smiling at him, talking to him, leaning toward him. “We always do.”

There’s a woman sitting across from him. He doesn’t know her. She calls out to him when he gets up and walks away, but he doesn’t look back. Her presence is fading into smoke. Into nothing.

He goes to the couch. There are two warm, breathing bodies on it. He slides between them, keeping his distance, even as he looks back and forth between them, repeating their names like it’ll keep them in his head.

“Eddie, Will, Eddie, Will, Eddie—”

Smoke clouds his mind, pushing him out. He repeats their names, even as the grasp he has on his own begins to fade.

“—Will, Eddie, Will, Eddie—”

He doesn’t sleep.

Part 76

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @wonderland-girl143-blog @nerdsconquerall @sharingisntkaren

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #my fic #steddie upsidedown au #will byers

[anashins]

can you write something about jaehyun spoiling his s/o, practically being her sugardaddy

Pairing: Jaehyun x You

Genre: fluff, romance, a bit suggestive in the end

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: Jaehyun just really wants to put these designer high heels on you and take you out, but he's afraid other men might look at you. So he better makes sure you're not leaving without another diamond.

A/N: Thank you for requesting! I didn't know how serious the sugar daddy part was, so I hope you still like my take on this :) Based on a real life conversation.

“Is it too tight, Miss?”

You took a deep breather. And again. The fabric of the clothing indeed closed tighter around your chest, but not to the point of where you felt like gasping for air. It fitted you perfectly, like it had been tailored right onto your body in your sleep.

“It’s fine.”

The shop’s employee nodded and dropped her hands from your back to the skirts of the dress that flowed down your hips in a waterfall of different chiffon layers, arranging the fabric by your legs. It was a stark contrast to the tight corset and made the entire gown stand out even more - and not only because of its bright red color alone.

Jaehyun has always had an immaculate taste. He had proven it by the different dresses, handbags and shoes he had gotten you in the past few months, but tonight, he definitely exceeded himself, even though you had deemed it impossible.

You hadn’t known what to expect when he had suddenly texted you that you would get picked up by 5pm and in front of you then didn’t stand your boyfriend, but a driver instead, to give you a ride to this high end boutique where the dress had already been picked up for you. 

“He also wants you to wear this.” 

Something cold got placed around your neck, and when your eyes found the object in the full body mirror in front of you, you stopped breathing visibly. The necklace was sparkling with different diamonds, and you could directly tell that it cost more than triple the deposit of your first apartment after university. 

You knew Jaehyun’s business was going well now, but not this well.

“Don’t you like it, Miss?”

Instantly, you shook your head, bringing your finger up to touch the pendant. You had been too stunned to speak. 

“I love it.”

“Very well. He’s waiting outside now. You can pick a pair of shoes in the shop directly yourself.”

The nice lady quickly adjusted your hair, checked your makeup and then nodded contently before she led you out of the fitting room and back into the actual shop that had already closed down just because Jaehyun had wanted privacy for you. 

And said man now stood by the window, his back turned to you. With an excuse, the employee left you two alone, and you then approached him with silent steps as your naked feet touched the ground.

“I surely didn’t miss our anniversary, did I?” you asked insecurely. “I don’t want to be rude or ungrateful, but Jaehyun… this is all very expensive, no matter how well your business is now doing.”

“Can’t I just spoil you every now and then, just because?” Jaehyun turned around with a smug smile. His hair was slicked back though a few thick strands had still gotten loose and fell into his forehead. He wore a dark gray suit that he had styled rather casually and in his hands, he was holding a pair of silver high heels that he then lifted and let it dangle in front of you. “I think these will make the look complete. Sit down.”

You did as you had been told and Jaehyun knelt down in front of you. With a deliberate motion, he raised his head to lock gazes with you, and you wondered why he didn’t continue.

"What is it?" you asked. 

“I wonder if I can really let you go outside like this.”

Your heart sank. “What do you mean… like this? Doesn’t the dress suit me? Is it the color? It’s too much, right? I’ll ask for an alternative…”

You gathered the skirts around your waist and already wanted to stand up, but Jaehyun pushed you back down. “No! I meant it like… Ah! I don’t want anyone else to see you like this. To even look at you. Maybe I should call the restaurant and have them empty the entire setup, so I can have this sight all to myself.”

You blushed. “Don’t say that…”

“No matter how much money I make now or will make in the future, it cannot buy me a beauty like yours, and I still got you - beautiful inside and outside. What a lucky man I am. Here, now let me help you.”

Jaehyun flipped over the skirts so that your lower legs were free. He gently touched your foot and put it in one of the heels. It fitted perfectly.

“I feel like Cinderella when the prince was searching for her,” you giggled. When Jaehyun had closed the strap, you stretched out the leg and admired how elegantly you looked in the heel. “All this for a visit in a restaurant though? Will we go to an opera after? Watch a play? Whatever it is, I’m so excited!”

“Neither. Just dinner.” He reached for your other foot.

“That’s fine too!” you declared happily. “As long as we can spend time together. But Jaehyun… it doesn’t need to be all this. I know your business is now skyrocketing, but you shouldn’t invest so much money in me. Lately, you've been spoiling me so much, I don’t know where to with all your presents. There is not much space anymore in our home. I’m getting by just fine with my job. Just take care of yourself first.”

He stopped all his motions. “Remember when we were still in that rundown apartment after university? Barely able to afford daily food?”

“Of course I do.” Because it had been the worst time in your lives.

“Back then, you worked three jobs while I was still studying. And when you cried one night because it was too much, I promised you that one day, you wouldn’t need to work anymore, I was going to make so much money, you wouldn’t need to worry about life a single day anymore. I was going to take care of you.”

You gulped. “I didn’t know you remember…”

Jaehyun led your foot into the remaining heel, but didn’t make a move to raise or close the strap. Instead, he kept his head low and let his finger linger on your ankle as he recalled the memories. “Your suffering face… I never wanted to see it again, and a day like today, I want it to be a daily experience for you.”

“Jaehyun… what are you saying…?”

“I’m sorry, I handed in your notice at work today, you don’t have to return to this toxic workplace. Just look for another or don’t work at all if you don’t want to. I bought a penthouse by the river, we’re going to move in tomorrow. You don’t have to take anything with you, it’s all set.”

Your heart was beating by your throat now. “Jaehyun… what did you do?”

He looked up and explained, “I bought a bit of land a few years ago and one of the biggest investment groups in the whole country needed it for a new project. I sealed the deal yesterday, and I’m gonna be part of the project. We’re rich now.”

“That’s amazing!” You threw your arms around his neck and hugged him close. “All your hard work paid off, Jaehyun! I’m so happy for you, you deserve it!”

“Didn’t you hear what I said? I said we are rich now.”

You withdrew and shook your head. “It’s all you. It’s your business, your money. I got nothing to do with it.”

“You cooked for me, helped me study, did most chores and supported me in every way when I was invested in this business. I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t been with me the entire time, endured all hardships and believed in me too. You took care of me when I couldn’t, now it’s my turn.”

“You don’t need to repay me. I did all this, because I love you. Just live your life well, and I’ll be content too.”

“But I can’t be happy then.” He dropped his head.

“Why not?”

“Because I want to share all this with my wife.”

You gasped.

Jaehyun’s hand reached into his pocket. “Shit. I wanted to wait until we were in the restaurant, because it has a very nice rooftop, but I just can’t wait any longer. You’ve waited for too long already.” He opened his hand and along with it, the dark blue velvet box. “Please let me be your husband from now on.”

Your answer came in the way of you cupping his face and placing your lips on his while his hands simultaneously wandered up your legs.

Jaehyun didn’t come to close the second high heel for you that evening and neither did you make it to the restaurant.

#jaehyun #jeong jaehyun #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun x you #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun x y/n #jaehyun fanfiction #nct #nct 127 #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct 127 x you #nct 127 x reader #nct x you #nct x reader #jaehyun fluff #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop x you #kpop x reader